Nights at the Bookshop
by Tina VanTandrad
Summary: Aziraphale wants to know what it's like to be human, while Crowley gets a visit from a long forgotten friend. A story about friendship, trust, and why angels don't need beds.
1. The end of the end of the world

Author's note: As of now, I've only seen the show, so sorry about that!  
I bought the book, but decided not to read it yet, as I wanted this story to be written in my own style, and I'm prone to adapting the style of any book I'm reading.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new story as much I enjoy writing it! :)

* * *

Sleep wasn't something he could do. As an etherial being of energy, he didn't need rest. Not in the way humans did anyway. But he found peace in those little things he had picked up over the years. Just like food, he simply liked to indulge in some sleep now and again- even though meditation would be a more accurate word for it. He never drifted off- always stayed conscious, and he never dreamt.

It also explained why there was a bedroom in his small flat above the bookshop.

It mostly existed for his own enjoyment. Customers never got to see his private lodgings, and there was no need for such an elaborate cover, for, as sad as it sounds, Aziraphale had never befriended any humans. Yes, everyone liked him, and he, in turn, liked spreading love and joy; but apart from that? He had never gotten to know any of them well enough to call them a friend. And it was fine! Momentary pleasantries and small miracles were what he did best. It was his way of doing his job, and reminding the humans life wasn't so bad after all.

The angel had permitted himself the rare liberty of taking off his shoes and coat. With his hands folded across his stomach, he relaxed, and let his thoughts wander. He had helped avert the apocalypse, and lived the horrid, but terribly thrilling, life of a demon for one day. How fascinating it had been! How glad he was they had survived together! How glad he was to know him.

Unbeknownst to the angel, a soft smile lit up his features. He was a being of love, which meant he loved every living thing. However, the love he felt for his counterpart was different. The demon's presence increased his appetite for life. Whenever Crowley was there, Aziraphale felt liberated, and excited. Sometimes, he caught himself admiring this wonderful being of darkness, and hoped he wouldn't notice. Whenever Crowley looked at him, the angel would innocently lower his gaze, but as soon as the demon looked away again, he would shoot him another admiring look, consciously this time, even if it turned out to be the just the briefest of glances.

* * *

Crowley on the other hand wasn't home. He only went there to water and demean his plants, when humans were particularly annoying, or to consult his books (most of which had been provided a certain angel). Therefore, he didn't own a bed either.

Once the outer-worldly couple were certain they were safe from their respective superiors, they had gone out for dinner at the Ritz. It was a place both of them enjoyed. Aziraphale for the quality of the food and the love put into it, Crowley for the the excellent spirits, and the rich clientele, filling the air with greed and arrogance.

Once dinner was done, the angel suggested they go to the British Museum. Not for the art, of course. Most of the exhibits they had seen made themselves. Aziraphale even supervised the creation of the Rosetta stone. No, the reason he wanted to go, were the people. If the apocalypse had taken place, none of it, and none of them would be there. A museum was the perfect place to experience quiet, peaceful, everyday life. To the angel's surprise, Crowley agreed, admitting that he had had enough of extraordinary things for a while.

They stayed there past closing time, talking about the old days, and laughing at anecdotes connected to some of the artworks. One thing lead to another, and so they ended up at the bookshop once again, drinking red wine like they had done a couple times before.

It was only in the early hours of the next day, when they decided to sober up and part company.

Up until then, Crowley had forgotten all about his car. The end of the end of the world had been more important- and so had his best friend. However, there was a point when he wanted nothing more than to be alone with his beloved Bentley, and think about the things that had happened.

It was exactly what he was doing now. He had lost any concept of time, and it was alright. He had all the time in the world now.

For most of his journey, Crowley's mind was blank. He simply followed the road with his eyes, until eventually, the inevitable happened, and thoughts crept unnoticed into his mind. He thought about Aziraphale, and the way he looked at him when he thought he wouldn't notice. It was annoying, a little embarrassing even, and it was the sweetest thing Crowley had ever seen.

Yes, Aziraphale was an angel, he loved everything, blah, blah. The demon was tired of telling himself that he wasn't special. As someone who was universally hated by everyone- heaven, earth, and hell alike- a little love felt good. After all, he used to be an angel too, and the only thing that set him aside from the other fallen ones, was that he hadn't forgotten what it was like. He had enjoyed the day in the shape of his best friend for multiple reasons. For one, Crowley enjoyed seeing that heaven was just as terrible a place as hell. At least demons were unapologetically awful, whereas the angels were living behind this sickeningly sweet facade of false praise and politeness. It had been such a joy to see it all crumble, if only for a moment.

But there was another reason why Crowley had liked being an angel again; simply because he got to be the good guy for once. Granted- Aziraphale was just as popular amongst his fellow angels as he was amongst the demons, but still. It was the idea, of being able to make someone happy, or avert a catastrophe without risking his whole existence, was relieving.

The angel had been right- deep down, he was still good. As much as he enjoyed his demonic existence, he hated the one-sidedness of it all. There was more than just good and evil. There was something in between. This was another reason he was glad to know Aziraphale. While he was very dutiful, he wasn't exactly loyal to his side, as he had proven during those past days. He wasn't as awful as the rest of his lot. He was also more than just an angel. He was HIS angel.


	2. An old friend

Author's note:

There have been major changes to this chapter, because I felt the story was progressing way too quickly, and I didn't like where there characters were going etc. So I decided to rewrite a good deal instead of giving up on the story. Hope you still like it! There's some exciting stuff coming soon, so you guys have something to look forward to! :)

* * *

A couple of years had passed peacefully after the supposed Armageddon. As predicted, Aziraphale and Crowley were left in peace by their superiors. They only occasionally met up to spend time together. Now there was no one to hide from anymore, they felt safe and confident enough to indulge in their friendship. So what did it matter if they only saw each other every other year? For as the world evolved, and people grew old and died, they would always have each other. Their presence was the only constant in their lives. Even mountains changed, but the angel and the demon would always be there.

Since that supposed last day, humanity had made no major advances. No new wars broke out, no nuclear reactors collapsed. Only the area of London seemed to experience severe traffic jams, an increase in annoying viral Youtubers, as well as perfect weather for sweaters, and a miraculous increase of trees, tea rooms, and other little pleasantries humans generally enjoyed.

One night, Crowley found himself in Soho once again. He hadn't seen his favourite angel in a while. It was not his intention to change that for now. Although he was considering to invite him out for dinner again sometime soon. It was pumpkin pie season after all.  
Tonight, however, Crowley was in the mood for some mundane drama, so decided to seek out one of the more exclusive gay bars and cause an orgy. It would be fun for everyone, and he was certain to get a good laugh out of it.  
Calmly, he swaggered in. The demon had a habit of entering any room like he was a terrible actor entering a stage with over dramatised movements. Aziraphale usually was rather amused by it. He sat down by the bar, casually ordering a drink. It was best to start out by finding the person most susceptible to his influence. Not a very hard task, as weak-minded people were naturally drawn to him. Hardly a minute passed before the first potential victim occupied the bar stool next to him. He seemed rather nervous. The demon could see him smile anxiously, and licking his lips. Crowley could also see the white spot on his ring finger, where a wedding ring should be. Oh this was going to be brilliant!

"C-come here often?" The man stuttered at last.

The demon did not so much as look at him, but still smiled compassionately into his drink.

"Nah. My boyfriend wanted to go out tonight. I'm just sort of...tagging along. Just waiting for him to get back from the bathroom." The lie wasn't strictly necessary. There were much easier ways of making people do what he wanted, but that would be boring.

"Ah." The man seemed crushed.

"Don't worry though." Now the demon now turned to look at his victim through his shades.

"That guy over there has been staring at you all night." His wink was visible even through the blackened lenses. Another lie he didn't care about- but hat poor man did. His eyes widened with hope. He hardly dared believe it.

"Gosh, really?"

"Yepp. That one over there. Super obvious. He just isn't brave enough to talk to you. Why don't you go and try your luck?" The grin he shot him now was truly the sweetest, most demonic one could possibly come up with.

By pointing at one, very attractive man at the other side of the room he had chosen at random, Crowley manifested those exact feelings in him. The time to use his powers had come.

"Wow...he's right fit..." Again the man licked his lips. As innocent as he was, this was a very creepy habit. Even the demon thought so.

"And you're sure he's been looking at me, and not at...at you?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. He was beginning to get annoying. "You won't know if you don't try, eh?" Still, the demon smiled and put on an encouraging tone.

"Yeah, of course. You're right."

With that, he left to approach the man, who was still gazing longingly at him.

Quietly, the demon spun his web of lust, and soon everyone in the bar was kissing. Love triangles were forming all around him, while more and more men headed for the toilets in groups.

Like any other good show, it all came to an end after a while- namely when Crowley got bored. He left the bar, and with a click of his fingers, freed those men from their momentary craze.

He just reached for his car keys, when a familiar voice addressed him from behind.

"Couldn't have done it better myself, dear Crawly."

The demon with sunglasses turned around to see who was talking. Nobody had used the name Crawly in almost two millennia.

Standing on the pavement behind him, was a tall man of a similar build as himself. His posture was slightly awkward, as was his face. Yet he was oddly handsome. His head was graced with a shock of unruly, brown hair. His eyes were soft, and his smile slightly timid- though Crowley could tell there was more to it. The only things giving him away, were the absence of eyebrows, and the reptilian tongue, briefly poking from between his teeth as he smiled.

"Haven't heard that name in a while..." Crowley smiled. "You do know I don't use that one anymore, right?"

The other demon shrugged playfully. "Suits you better than Anthony, you slithering old reptile."

"Look who's talking." The ginger demon scanned him with his yellow eyes. There was a pause as Crowley judged his colleague's appearance.

"So...did they...let you go back up, or what?"

A frown. "Pardon?"

"The bow tie. And...well...the whole three piece suit. Isn't that what angels do?"

The other demon adjusted the thing he was wearing around his neck. "Oh that! No, no. I've been told that's what humans think is "cool" these days."

Crowley gave a little grunt, which was meant to be a laugh. "You've been gone too long. Anyway, what name do you go by, then?"

A demonic smile. "Still the same old Paymon."


	3. Catching up

Author's note:

This chapter has only had minor changes to correspond with the new timeline. :)

Edit: The next one is going to b G.

* * *

Aziraphale had spent the past few days in his bookshop, only taking occasional breaks to go out for dinner. It was still the best way to distract himself. He was glad his superiors were still avoiding him, as it meant he didn't have to travel around the world, performing miracles. Instead, he spent his time reading everything he could find about sleep and dreams. His fascination had returned recently, when overhearing a couple at a bar, talking about their strangest dreams. The kind of research he conducted meant long lights huddled up in blankets in front of a cosy fire, and days hunched over his desk. Many a cup of hot chocolate grew cold in the process.

What he found fascinated Aziraphale. There was the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty, who spent a century asleep in her chamber, until a prince came to kiss her awake. He read about Psychoanalysis, and what part dreams played in it.  
In fact, he vaguely remembered Dr. Freud talking about it in 1901. Since the conversation had taken place in a Viennese Café, however, Aziraphale remembered fairly little about it, except that the chocolate cake had been to die for.  
There were also other methods of interpreting dreams- less scientific ones.

Even Agnes Nutter had apparently drawn some of her nice and accurate prophecies from dreams- and it was no singular occurrence! Several people had, even without his or Crowley's help, had dreams that would turn out to come true.

The more Aziraphale read about it all, the more desperate he grew to experience it for himself. For days he had been wrecking his brain to find a solution. How, in the name of all that was holy, could an angel get to sleep?

Suddenly, a smile lit up his features. What if THAT was the problem?

Almost exactly 1.2 Miles away, in Mayfair, Crowley was still talking to Paymon, formerly Paimon. He had taken him there to catch up on what had happened over the past couple thousand years.

"So, Paimon- sorry- Paymon-That's all the same, isn't it?" Crowley shrugged at his own statement. "Anyway- what have you been up to all these millennia?"  
It was a legitimate question, as Paymon was the only demon ever who managed to disappear from Hell.

He chuckled. "Does it matter?"

"You managed to vanish into thin air for about five thousand years, so yes. It kind of matters." Crowley raised his eyebrows and looked at him over the rim of his shades. He was slouched in the chair behind his desk, with his feet on the table. Paymon was sat opposite him, in an equally relaxed positon.

"Well..." The other demon shot him a conspiratorial grin. "If you must know, I've been travelling the stars. Mostly Alpha Centauri."

Crowley's eyes widened. "No! I've been wanting to go there with-" he could stop himself before blurting out Aziraphale's name. "Doesn't matter. Tell me all about it!"

"I don't know, Crowley...What if they're listening...?" The demon materialised a pack of "Dromedary" brand cigarettes on the desk.

Languidly, he took one of them out of the package and placed it between his lips. It lit up the second it touched the demon's lips.

"What if I promise you they're not listening? I know they wouldn't dare. Not yet."

Paymon looked intrigued. "Now the question is- what did YOU do?"

"I may or may not have averted Armageddon."

The other demon gave a disbelieving laugh. "That was YOU?!"

"Well...not JUST me, obviously."

Paymon looked around the room. He'd always liked to put on a bit of a show.  
"Now you mention it, everything looks a little more…habitable than I thought. Shame, really. I only came here to find a new place to stay. Gets boring in the stars after a while. Especially when you're all alone."

Crowley nodded slowly. He thought of Aziraphale, and what would have happened if he really had gone there all by himself. Despite having been deadly serious about running away with him, he now liked to tell himself it had all been a bluff, and nothing more.

"But if you spoiled their precious war…How are you still alive?" Paymon chipped in, breaking Crowley's chain of thoughts.

"You really have been up in the stars, haven't you? I thought everybody knew about this! The whole thing with the bathtub and the holy water?"

"Haven't got the faintest, I'm afraid."

Crowley looked at him, unsuccessfully trying to hide his disbelief.

"Alright. How about this- I'll tell you my story, and you tell me yours."

But before Paymon could reply, someone knocked on the door.


	4. Where no angel has gone before

Author's note:

Ok, it didn't turn out THAT long, but that's just because this chapter turned out long enough to publish on its own, which I didn't think would happen until half an hour ago. :)

* * *

Crowley decided to drive them back to Soho. He hadn't offered the angel to come in, even after Paymon had gone, as he didn't want to risk him running into the demon. There was no telling where he had gone. Most likely, he had just hidden somewhere between the pages of a book, or amongst the roots of one of the plants. He had already committed treachery on both sides, so had no desire to get caught up in any more drama for inviting Hell's only runaway into his home. More importantly though, Aziraphale was certain to draw the wrong conclusions from the encounter.

They entered the book shop in silence, while Aziraphale locked the door the old-fashioned way, using a key. Crowley could tell he was nervous, almost excited. He decided not to say anything, as he knew the angel wouldn't keep him waiting for long.  
"Crowley, I would like to ask a favour of you." He said with one of his anxious smiles.  
"It' not hell fire, is it?" the demon chuckled quietly.  
"No, no, nothing like that. But it is something unusual, I will admit that. You see, I would like to conduct an experiment. Sort of."  
And so, Aziraphale told Crowley about what he had read. He told him about psychoanalysis, about the various stages of sleep, and how relaxing it was for humans, and he told him about Sleeping Beauty. The comparison between the angel and the princess amused Crowley, even though he failed to grasp its relevance. That was, until Aziraphale came to the end of his carefully prepared monologue.  
"And that is why I want to ask you make me sleep."  
There was a moment of silence before Crowley raised an eyebrow. "That's it? That's what you couldn't ask me over the phone?"  
The angel was a bit taken aback. "Well, yes."  
"Looks like you wasted both our time then, because I could have told you right away I'm not doing it."  
A frown. "But why?"  
"Because it's a terrible idea. Besides, what do you want to sleep for? It doesn't make any sense. Food I get, but sleep?"  
"I just want to know what it's like to be human." Aziraphale now sounded like a child, who had to explain what he did wrong without really knowing what it was.  
"But you practically are human! Both of us are! You have job for heaven's sake! If that's not the most human thing, I don't know what is."  
"Yes, I know. Yet, I feel like sleep is the last thing I haven't done that would make me feel entirely human, but I can't do it on my own." There was now a sort of pleading tone in the angel's voice, and a sadness in his eyes. It made Crowley's façade crumble, exposing his soft core. He hated it. He hated that Aziraphale had wrapped him around his little finger like that. Of course he wasn't manipulating him. It was just something that had happened over the centuries, and it was entirely mutual. Still, after everything that had happened, Crowley was thoroughly annoyed by it.  
"It' just…because we don't know what will happen, you know. What if you accidentally open a portal in your sleep and go back to heaven? Or worse, what if you get discorporated? Ever thought about that?"  
"Or what if nothing happens?" Aziraphale smiled a little awkwardly at him, in an attempt at being encouraging. "What if I wake up after a nice, long, nap, filled with lovely dreams I can tell you about?"  
"Or nightmares, for that matter. I'm still a demon, so it's probably going to be that."  
Aziraphale sighed quietly. "I am very aware of that, and I am willing to take the risk." His expression had changed from insecure to determined. Crowley now understood how badly he wanted this. Who was he to stop him from dreaming?  
"Alright then. I just hope you know what you're doing." His voice was filled with exaggerated indifference, to hide the fact he was glad Aziraphale had come to him for the request, which meant he could be there if things really did go sideways.

A couple minutes later, Aziraphale lay on his bed, with his head in Crowley's lap. The demon had taken off his sunglasses, so when the angel looked up at him with a wide smile, their eyes met.  
"Close your eyes. You can't sleep like that." The demon explained.  
"I know, sorry." Azirapahle closed his eyes and wiggled his body a little, in order to feel even more comfortable. "This is just so terribly thrilling."  
Crowley didn't answer. He was still unsure of the whole thing, but knew expressing his doubt would be no good. He simply placed a hand on Aziraphale's heart, stating, "This will help you calm down…"  
Suddenly, the angel felt peace. The heartbeat of his physical form slowed down. Pleasant thoughts filled his mind. He knew everything was going to be just fine.  
"Thank you…Crowley." He muttered, as he wondered whether he as currently experiencing fatigue.  
The demon now placed his hands on the angel's temples, with his thumbs on his forehead. He muttered something, but Aziraphale already was too far gone to understand. The last thing he could feel before drifting off, was a smile on his lips.


	5. The Forgotten Angel

Aziraphale awoke what felt like hours later, feeling a little light-headed. He had no memory of having had any dreams. In fact, he didn't feel any different at all. Still, he was glad to have done it. He knew from his research, that this kind of deep, dreamless sleep was perfectly normal. Granted, he was a little disappointed that his first- and perhaps his only time- sleeping would be just an empty void in his memory, yet he was grateful for the experience.

Slowly the angel sat up in his bed. The room was dark and empty.

"Crowley...?" He asked, carefully putting his feet on the ground. There was no reply, so he asked again, a little whinier this time. "Crowley, where are you?"

The angel was annoyed that his friend should leave during such an important moment in his life. It was a little heartless of him. He grabbed his pocket watch from the night stand, and put it back in place. A hearty stretch followed.

Still feeling a little drowsy, Aziraphale wandered over to his kitchen. He was ready for a snack.

Strangely, there was still no sign of the demon, making him wonder if something had happened. The silence in the house made him feel slightly uneasy.

The emptiness that greeted him from inside his refrigerator only added to this feeling. Had Crowley really made off with all of his supplies? Why on earth would he do that?

"Crowley!" he called out again. "If this is a joke, bravo! You have got me- as they say. Hooray. But I would quite like my food back now." Again, there was nothing. Only the quiet whirring of electronics people only become aware of in an otherwise entirely silent environment.

He closed the fridge and headed downstairs into the shop. Something was very wrong.

To the angel's great surprise, he was greeted, not by the demon, but by one of his house plants.

"Why, hello. Has your owner left you here?" Unsurprisingly, there was again nothing but dead silence. It frightened Aziraphale. Everything felt so empty. He needed to get out and find out what was going on.

Quickly, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door, only to be stopped by a blinding, white light. His eyes needed a good few seconds to adjust to the brightness, and pass the information of his whereabouts on to his brain. Apparently, he had gone to heaven. Dread filled him the moment he understood the weight of it all.

"Oh dear..." He whined even louder this time. The door to his book shop had disappeared, so there was no going back. Only the endless stretches of white he loathed so much.

"Gabriel?" he called out. "Uriel?"

The eerie silence continued. There were no angelic harps, no Sound of Music, not even electronic whirring. Simply nothing.

"Anyone?!" Aziraphale was beginning to grow desperate. Slowly and insecurely, he wandered forward.

There was no telling how long he wandered around heaven, as time did not exist. Any name he called out was hurled back at him by an unforgiving echo, mirroring the endless emptiness of heaven.

Of the thousands upon thousands of angels in existence, none of them seemed to be home.

Eventually, Aziraphale gave up. He pressed his back against a wall, only to slowly slide to the ground. Helpless and hopeless, he allowed tears to fill his eyes.

He had sometimes heard humans talk about what they thought hell might look like. Some of them believed, that hell these days took each of their individual biggest fears and used them as punishment for all eternity.

While that was far from the truth, Aziraphale felt that whatever was happening to him, was his own personal hell: Absolute, eternal loneliness.

Just before the first loud, and ugly sob could wring itself from the angel's throat, he became aware of a presence. He staggered to his feet and beamed in hope.

"Hallo? Is someone there?!"

"I guess I'm someone, yes." The voice said. It sounded familiar, yet he could not quite place it.

"Oh thank god! You wouldn't happen to know the way back to Earth, would you? It is very important that I should go there immediately. Someone is waiting for me, you see."

The other angel had drawn close. Aziraphale felt great love looking at him. He was certainly one of the higher-ups. Yet, he was nothing like Gabriel and the rest. He was dressed in an old-fashioned way. By that, Aziraphale meant the way they had dressed before the Garden if Eden had been built. His hair was long, and just as white as his own. His features were a mystery yo the more stylish angel, as there was a bright light keeping him from seeing them. Almost as if he were not allowed to see them.

"Someone who means a lot to you."

Aziraphale did not hesitate. On the contrary, he blurted out "Yes!" with the exact same excitement he always felt whenever the conversation even vaguely gravitated towards Crowley. He could feel the other angel smile.

"You like him a lot then."

"I do." Aziraphale somehow knew he could trust his colleague. Why, he did not know.

"I love him."

"Perhaps you should think about it."

A frown. "Hardly."

"I'm here to warn you about him, Aziraphale. Crowley is dangerous. He plays games with everyone- including you."

The former angel of the Eastern Gate laughed out loud. "I say balderdash! He saved my life. More than once!"

"And obviously you're foolish enough to believe it was't for personal gain."

"Well, yes! He's my friend, he would never betray me like that. Besides, what would he get out of all of this."

"You should ask him. There are great many things you don't know...things you never wanted to know. Things you forgot."

"That's not true! I know who my friends are and Crowley certainly is!" Aziraphale repeated steadfastly.

"Well tell me then..." The angel stepped forward, so the ethereal bookseller could see his face for the briefest of moments.

"...do you remember me?"


	6. Strawberries and Cream

His eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air, like someone who had just been saved from drowning.

Something filled his view. It looked familiar. Skin coloured, with some streaks of ginger, and two yellow dots in the middle. Its scent was also familiar- as was it's voice. Only when the thing distanced itself from him could Aziraphale see who he was.

Two, surprisingly soft hands came to rest on his cheeks. Instinctively, he sent his own hands to join them.

"You're awake! I was starting to worry. You've been out for hours."

It was good to have him there. He was the lighthouse, guiding him back to reality after a dreadful dream.

Slowly but surely Aziraphale emerged from his sleep. The room was mostly dark, save for some orange tint, caused by the street lights outside. It was just enough so he could tell from the silhouettes surrounding him, that he was home. The pleasant smell of dust, old books, and coffee filled the air. The distant sounds of London nightlife could be heard, and if he tried very hard- which he did- both their breathing and heartbeats.

"Are you sure you're real...?" The angel asked at length, in a way that told Crowley he still wasn't quite there. It didn't matter. The lovestruck demon was closer to his friend than he had ever been, and wished with his whole heart this moment would never end. If Armageddon were to happen that very instant, and this was how he had to spend eternity, it were fine with him.

"Last time I checked, yes." He chuckled.

Aziraphale was now able to focus on his eyes. A moment of silence passed. Finally, they let go of one another. Somehow it felt like, by doing that, their fate changed. Anything could have happened during those seconds of silence, but just like every other time before, nothing did. So, although close, the two remained nothing more than friends, bound together by loneliness.

Just like when the Hell Hound had been named, Crowley could feel the change happen. His heart sank a little, and he swore to himself never to tell anyone that he had tried to kiss Aziraphale awake.

Eventually, the angel heaved himself into a sitting position. "And you promise you didn't make off with the contents of my fridge?"

Crowley shook his head. "Sounds like you had a dream. You definitely looked like it."

"Oh, I did!" A spark of excitement returned to Aziraphale's eyes. "It was marvellous! Though I rather think you were right...It was a nightmare."

The demon looked a little guilty, then shrugged. "Sorry. I did warn you though."

"I know, I know."

"Are you going to tell me about it?"

"Yes, but let's head to the kitchen. I'm craving strawberries"

Crowley took a sip from his second mug of strong, black coffee, as he watched Aziraphale thoughtfully dip a strawberry into some sweetened cream.

"I now know why dreams are such a mystery to humans...I can hardly understand what mine meant. For the most part, I am glad it's over." The popped the fruit into his mouth. "It's funny...I only just got out of bed, but already it feels like I forgot most of my dream. I just remember...a feeling of loneliness. I was wandering round the bookshop, looking for you...but you'd left."

"Explains why you were so glad to see me, then." his counterpart mumbled into his mug. Aziraphale looked at him with his soft, loving eyes. "Oh Crowley! You know I'm always glad to see you. And I wouldn't know what I would have done without you tonight. To think I really could have woken up all alone..." a genuine shudder ran down his spine. "I'd rather not think about it at all, to be entirely honest." He smiled again, and treated himself to another strawberry.

"I still need to come up with an adequate thank you."

Crowley gave one of his little "nah's'alright" mumbles, and dismissively waved a hand. The angel insisted, saying he'd find something sooner or later.

"Anyway, I was looking for you, but there was no one there...except one of your plants. Everything was so quiet. It frightened me. Then I staggered into heaven. It was also empty, and even quieter. I remember breaking down in despair...and then..." Suddenly, the strange angel and his words came back to him. A gut feeling told Aziraphale, that it was an information his friend did not need to possess.

"Oh would you look at that." he chuckled nervously. Another berry found its way from the bowl into the angel's mouth. "I can't remember what happened then. I think I did end up finding someone, but it's all such a blur."

"I'm glad nothing happened." The demon said, taking another sip. "I guess you were right then."

Aziraphale gave a little, triumphant smile. "It does indeed."


	7. Secrets of the Trade

It had all started 6000 years ago, with a fundamentally bad idea. It was not the kind of bad Aziraphale would call bad, but in a much more general sense.

It was the moment Crowley decided to slither up to the Angel of the Eastern Gate, and strike up a conversation.

Of course he hadn't known it was a bad idea then. He still didn't really consider it that. Aziraphale however, had. He no longer did, but for a very long time, he had felt that Crowley should never have crossed that sacred line. It would have saved them both a lot of trouble. However, as centuries passed, he realised that their friendship would have been impossible to avoid. There had been a spark between them right from the beginning. Most likely, it was even part of the Ineffable Plan.

Since Armageddon, Aziraphale had the courage to admit to himself and everyone around him that he loved the demon, and that he needed him. There was nowhere left for him to go, no one to believe in or trust- except for Crowley.

So how did this mess come to be?

There were, of course, the more memorable occasions both of them cherished in a way. Those little moments, sprinkled throughout time, when the Agreement would be put to action, and they would meet up to share their next steps. Then, there were those moments when they would save each other from trouble. Those were perhaps the moments that strengthened their bond the most. There was, however, a third kind of meeting- one that neither of them had allowed themselves to talk

about so far. Moments, when they slipped, as it were, beyond the boundaries of the Agreement.

•••

The first time happened in an Irish village, back in 999 BC. Huddled in furs of all kinds, Crowley sat in his cottage, quietly cursing the cold weather. He was a snake, and therefore needed sun and warmth. He missed Rome, and seriously considered returning there. The little fire in front of him did little to combat the cold, icy air. He envied the blacksmith next door. It was always warm in there. All he had was watered-down, celtic beer, mead of acceptable quality, and some remainders of roman wine. If the former wouldn't do it anymore, he would need to switch to the stronger stuff. Grumplily, he brought the cup to his lips. Before he could take a sip, however, someone banged on the door.

"Please, good man! Give a lost soul shelter from the storm!" a muffled voice cried. Crowley wouldn't have bothered, if he weren't so certain he had heard that voice before. There was no use in trying however, as the storm swallowed most of its characteristics. Slowly, the demon got up, and the banging continued.

"Heaven's blessings will be yours, if you offer a lost wanderer shelter!"

Crowley snorted sarcastically. For the briefest of seconds, he considered changing his mind. He did open the door in the end. It flung open with such force, a deer skull fell off the wall, breaking an antler in the process. The wind that followed extinguished the fire in the centre of the room. Crowley didn't care. He was too busy closing and barricading the door. A figure, clad in equally as many layer of fur, all of them white, brushed off some of the snow from his clothes.

"Oh, thank you. How kind of you to open the door, I almost thought you-" he turned around. Their eyes met. Aziraphale's gaze lit up. "Crowley! What a pleasant surprise!"

The demon didn't seem so thrilled.

"Aziraphale...! Oh shit..." he gave a short, irritated sigh. With the click of his fingers, the fire in the middle of the room ignited again. "Don't you dare tell anyone I let you in. I'm not supposed to shelter anyone. Let alone.../you/." he grumbled.

"Of course not!" Aziraphale said, a little offended. "I am still glad to see a familiar face."

The demon grumbled something in reply, and filled two mugs with mead. Without his guest ever having asked for it, he continued to heat them up over the fire.

"So. What are you doing in this god forsaken piece of land?" Crowley asked once the angel had sat down.

"Well, exactly that, I suppose. To make them...not that. I was supposed to bless a few houses, and have the crops miraculously survive."

"The weather really is harsh..." Crowley grumbled.

"What about you? Don't tell me you were asked to spoil the crops?"

The demon shook his head and handed the angel a hot cup. He gratefully accepted.

"I was supposed to tempt the clan leader into converting to christianity. Turns out he'd already done it the day before I got here. There'll be a civil war soon, so I'm trying to get out of here as soon as the storm ends."

"Oh?" Aziraphale tried to sound curious to hide his disappointment. "Where are you going then?"

"It's going to be Rome again, I reckon."

While the storm howled outside, the angel and the demon whiled away the hours with hot mead and Crowley's last supplies of Roman wine. They got fairly drunk, but not enough to impair their speech. Just enough to blur their judgement a little. It was the first time they ever drank together, and both found that the other was far better company than they had first thought- or allowed themselves to think.

"Don't you..." Aziraphale began after a long, heavy silence. He suddenly felt he could trust Crowley. He wasn't your typical demon- that was obvious. "...don't you feel lonely sometimes?" Still, there was cautiousness in his voice.

"Why...?" the demon asked, unable to understand where the question was going.

"Because I do...especially now. It's cold...humans have changed so much since Eden. Adam and Eve were such lovely people...look what they turned out to be..."

Crowley was surprised. He hadn't expected Aziraphale to be so...so hopeless. He really did look like he'd been abandoned all of a sudden.

"Look, it's just a phase. You know what they're like." The demon tried to be reassuring, but couldn't hide he fact he didn't quite know how.

"I don't know..."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll turn out fine. Just give them a couple hundred years to sort themselves out."

"Are you certain...?"

"Oh yes. Yeeeeees. They'll be fine. Tough buggers, humans."

Aziraphale seemed just the tiniest bit relieved.

"But even if they do...we will end up alone, won't we?"

"Well..." Crowley paused and swallowed. He knew what he was going to say was stupid and dangerous, but it had to be said. He couldn't bear to see the angel like that. If someone like Aziraphale abandoned all hope, what was he supposed to believe in?

"Well...I guess we've always got each other. We're fairly similar, you and me."

Aziraphale looked at him in shock.

Crowley lifted his hands in a pacifying manner.

"I'm just saying...if you don't tell, I won't. Then we could be friends- just as long as this storm lasts, if you want. Alright?" He smiled a genuine, reassuring smile this time. Somehow, he liked the idea.

"Just tonight?"

A nod.

"And it's our secret?"

Another nod.

"Alight...I guess it can't hurt to have a one-night-friend."

The joke made Crowley die a little on the inside, but his happy smile warmed his demonic heart. They shook hands

"Friends."

•••

In the years between 1889, and 1901, both parties had been rather close friends with Oscar Wilde. Both of them liked him for very different reasons, which shall be explained in a different story. Yet it must be mentioned, that a second, very important point in their relationship occurred during this time.

The poet was known to love company, luxury, and travel. One day, in August of 1889, he asked Mr. A. Zira Fell, owner of the "Discreet Gentlemen's Club" in London, if he might accompany his little party down to Brighton for some sea, sun, and superb suppers. Of course he was all for it, especially upon the mention of the latter.

Little did Mr. Fell know, Wilde also asked another gentleman he had met around the same time as himself, and was equally fond of: A certain Mr. Crowley of Mayfair.

While Mr. Fell was only too keen to close up shop and travel by train with Wilde and his other friends, Mr. Crowley had sent a telegram, informing them he would be joining them in a day or two.

Aziraphale enjoyed himself immensely. He wasn't quite so fond of Lord Alfred Douglas as he was of Wilde's publisher, Mr. Ross, and the poet himself. Yet none of the young man's youthful antics spoiled Aziraphale's fun. That was, until Mr. Crowley joined them.

The demon had joined them, but stayed at a different hotel. He had found them at the beach (the angel was absent, and they still knew nothing of the other's presence), and Wilde promptly asked him to go fetch Mr. Fell, he's staying at room 117 at the Continental, there's a chap, much obliged.

Crowley didn't really care, so he made his way to the hotel.

•••

Last time the two of them saw each other had not ended well. Crowley's request for holy water had upset both of them, so they hadn't exactly sought each other's company for the past 28 years.

So, the demon knocked on the door of room 117 of the Continental, totally unaware what he was about to stir up.

Crowley didn't bother to knock a second time. He simply tried the door. Of course he hadn't expected it to be unlocked, but there he was, stumbling into a stranger's hotel room. He would later wonder why their encounters always started like this.

For a fraction of a second, he saw Aziraphale standing there, wrapped in a towel. During that moment, their brains processed the information. Then, the towel dropped. The angel blushed the deepest shade of crimson, and scrambled to pick up the towel, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

"Crowley!" He snapped as he did so. "What on Earth are you doing here?!"

"I...I..." the demon stammered, growing more irritated by the second, because of the fact he liked what he saw. "Oscar sent me to fetch you."

"But why YOU?!" Aziraphale whined.

"Because!"

"No need barging into my room like that! You could have just knocked."

"I did!"

A pause.

"Well, now you're here, I might as well ask a favour of you." The angel said, a little huffed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Aziraphale's cheeks reddened just a little more. It was obviously very hard to put forward his request.

"Could you...could you please help me get into my swimsuit? I had a new one made last week, but I'm afraid I can't reach the buttons in the back..."

Crowley was a little confused. He had expected the angel to kick him out right away, but he made no mention of it. On the contrary, he asked him to...help him get dressed?

"Well...I suppose I could?"

"Thank you." Aziraphale said quietly, but with a distinct, appreciative undertone, and left for the bathroom.

A few seconds passed before he called.

"Well?"

"What you expect me to go in there?"

"You said you were going to help!"

Crowley obeyed. When he entered, Aziraphale was busy pulling the swim suit over his knees. The demon could not resist catching a quiet glimpse of his form. Funny how they had all these things no one ever got to see beneath their clothes, just to fit in with the humans. Bodies in general, so he felt, were strange. Not in a bad way, obviously, but they confused him. He watched the angel get dressed up until the point where he struggled.

Slowly, Crowley closed the buttons. He had a sneaking suspicion Aziraphale hadn't been quite truthful about them, but decided not to say a word. When they were done, the angel looked into his eyes and smiled awkwardly.

"Well...thank you." he said quickly.

"Don't mention it." Crowley replied. "And I mean that literally as well- this is one of those things we don't talk about."

Their eyes were fixed on one another with a mix of coldness and longing.

Aziraphale swallowed. "Of course not. This never happened. We are enemies after all."

"Yes."

"Yes."

Crowley was the first to break their spell.

"Come on, angel. Grab your things. They're waiting for you."

Aziraphale did as he was told, and together they left the hotel.

•••

Years rolled by without any spectacular incidents until 1941. They do like to remember this incident, as it belongs to the life-saving category more than the other kinds. In short, Aziraphale had waltzed straight into a Nazi-trap, and was close to being discorporated by the means of traitorous bullets, when Crowley appeared on the scene to save him.

By then, the holy water incident lay in the past. Crowley was still doing his best to get his hands on some, but the endeavour proved to be harder than he had first anticipated.

Time had buried the conflict under its weight. It would just be another thing they wouldn't talk about anymore. At least for now.

So why did the incident in that London church influence their relationship in such a way as to be listed here? After all, it was just part of the "Lend a hand when needed" point of the Agreement.

Although that was true, it was simultaneously much more than that. It was the straw that breaks the camel's back.

He didn't quite know why, but it was that moment which made him realise that there was more to their relationship as an agreement. It was a deep-rooted friendship, sparked by loneliness and empathy. They had a lot in common- so much so, that Crowley would go out of his way to protect him- an angel- an enemy.

He too had saved him. He too liked- even loved him. Finally, Aziraphale could admit to himself that he loved him more than the usual way angels love things. Yet, it would take Armageddon for him to admit it to the demon as well- and even then, he would limit himself to friendship. Everything else was too new- too frightening. But as long as they were content, what did it matter what they called themselves?

Aziraphale hoped with all his soul, Crowley would pick up the little crumbs of confirmation he spread across the path of their eternity together. The way he, figuratively had given him his heart in the shape of a tartan-thermos filled with holy water- or how he had purposefully rested his head in his lap before he went to sleep the other day.

Now it was over. They were free to do whatever they wanted. So why couldn't he just confide in him if he needed the demon so much?

Suddenly, the strange angel's face popped up in his memory like an uninvited guest, and his warning along with him. Then, Aziraphale knew where he had seen him

before.


	8. Misery loves Company

AN: Sorry this one is so short! I decided it would be more intense that way

(Also sorry if formatting's weird, but I don't really know how to work the apl yet!)

_

At the other end of London, in a small park by the river Thames, from where he could see Greenwich, Crowley sat and watched the sunrise. A couple was kissing nearby. He tried to block it out, but it didn't quite work.

That night had been one of the strangest, most confusing of his life. He couldn't figure out why certain things had and certain things hadn't happened. It was almost like something kept them from finally coming together. Surely it wasn't about him going too fast anymore, was it? A sigh.

"Crowley! There you are, you old chameleon!"

"Snake, actually." the demon muttered grumpily. He really wanted to be alone.

"It took me ages to find you I suppose the old sensors are a bit out of practice." Paymon said. He leaned against the wall Crowley sat on, and lit another Dromedary cigarette.

"Huh."

"Looking especially miserable tonight. Suits you." He said cheerfully.

The demon in the sunglasses turned around with a frown.

"Could you just sod off? Where did you even come from?"

A shrug. "I got tired of waiting for you, so I did a bit of sightseeing. It's a great place, London. So where did you biff off to?" Like all demons, Paymon hadn't quite understood the idea of what was modern. Crowley had to commend him though. Despite acting mostly antiquated, he was learning fast. Most of their kind, who were even younger than him, were still stuck in the 14th century. At least Paymon, despite never having been to earth before, had made it to the 1920s. Some of his mannerisms even reminded him of Aziraphale. He wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Crowley looked at him through his sun glasses and blinked slowly at him, in a reptilian way.

"A friend needed help."

Paymon smiled, and his split tongue poked out from between his lips for the briefest of moments. He could tell from Crowley's tone he didn't like talking about it. Perfect.

"By jingo, we're still very like each other, aren't we?" he said softly.

There was no reply.

"You know...I've also made a couple friends in the past millennia. Great chaps. I miss them all terribly..."

Now Crowley looked at him. "On Alpha Centauri? Last time I checked there wasn't any life on there yet."

"Oh, not Alpha centauri, old chap! Another planet, where people are a lot like me."

A shrug. A long pause.

"Paymon...how do you cope with it? Missing your friends, I mean? Knowing you can't be with them because they won't- because they're lightyears away."

There it was again, this conspiratorial, reptilian grin.

"I like to distract myself then. Some arson usually works jolly well."


	9. Burning Bushes

Aziraphale had spent the past couple hours in front of his old computer. He didn't do it very often, as his memory was good and he preferred books and paper anyway. There were two things however, in which the computer surpassed him: Taxes and lists.

So to find out the name of the mysterious angel from his dream, the computer would be the best place to start. It contained a register of every angel in existence, even the fallen ones. Aziraphale was certain he would remember his name when he saw it.

Yet, there was nothing. Even after hours of scrolling, not one single name triggered any memories. Well, except for one: Crowley's. A name once connected with guilt and conflict, now felt more like home than any cup of cocoa ever could.

A sigh. It was best to let it rest for now. The sunrise promised a beautiful day, so what could be better than to distract oneself by talking a long, leisurely walk?

•••

Crowley had refused to set all of London on fire. He wouldn't even budge when Paymon suggested burning down one building, or even a warehouse. Eventually, they did settle with a remote bush in a small park, much to Paymon's dismay. As they stood there, watching that blasted piece of shrubbery go up in flames like a pleasant little campfire, he felt anger and disgust for Crowley. He was getting impatient, but couldn't allow himself to show any of it. After all, he would make a proper demon of him yet!

Crowley appeared so lost in a world of his own, he might not have been present at all.

Awkwardly, the two of them stood beside the bush in silence for far too long.

"You still haven't told be about Alpha Centauri..." He said at last.

Paymon gave up. With a languid motion of his hand, he extinguished the fire.

"Alright, I understand arson doesn't quite tickle your fancy. What else do you like to do?"

Crowley looked at him through his sunglasses. Paymon couldn't read his emotion.

"Why do you keep avoiding the question?"

"My word! I'm not avoiding it! I just want you to cheer up first! It's jolly boring, telling you about my adventures in time and space when you keep looking like that."

Crowley sighed. "Fair enough. Let's loosen up a bit. Alcohol usually does it for me...Yeah, I feel like getting drunk is what I want right now."

"Not particularly demonic, if you ask me."

"You can steal some for us then, if it helps."

"I say! Finally some sense!"

Usually, Crowley would pay for his things, or he would simply miracle them into existence. It was easier that way, and less suspicious amongst humans. Right now, he didn't care. He was preoccupied, and all he wanted was to ban Aziraphale from his thoughts for just one day. In all reality, he was glad his old friend had turned up. His offer of distraction was truly welcome- or at least it would have been, if his ideas didn't involve vandalism and murder. Other than that, Crowley was so desperate for a friend, he ignored the alarm signals going off in the back of his head.

Paymon was someone he could trust. He was an intelligent, bow-tie-wearing entity with a passion for art and knowledge, and he had done everything Crowley had always wanted. What's more: he was ready to share himself with him. It was perfect.

Too perfect.


	10. Secrets

Finally both of them had got their way: Paymon had stolen massive amounts of alcohol for their enjoyments, using his demonic powers as he pleased. There was real Champagne from France, 100-year-old Talisker Whiskey from Scotland, Californian Wine, and so on and so forth. Crowley had turned a blind eye to the corrupted souls and fires that happened along the way.

Now, they were lying sprawled on the floor of the Mayfair flat, sensationally drunk. Well...at least Crowley was. Paymon on the other hand wasn't. Of course his companion hadn't noticed. He was, after all, knowledgable on all the arts- including acting. In fact, it was his favourite form of art, as the most corrupt souls were excellent actors. It was basically lying on advanced levels.

"Back to Alpha Centauri." Crowley slurred.

"Wha' bout it?" the other demon replied in an equally hard-to-understand tone.

"Whassit like up there?" The demon lifted a hand, projecting a slightly blurry version of the universe onto the ceiling. He navigated through space by moving his wrist.

Paymon smiled and fixed the image with a blink of his eyes.

"We had a deal, remember?"

"Yeah but...but you go first. I don't wanna talk about the A word..."

Paymon hummed.

"Well...i's pretty up there...but lonely. Wouldn' wanna go there all alone. The loneliness gets to after a while."

"You don't say..." Crowley said, a little bitterly.

"Right, I keep forgetting you've been all alone down here."

"Yeah, sort of..."

Paymon rolled over to look at Crowley.

"Wha's happened to you? You always were such a fierce ol' fiend."

"6000 bloody years, that's wha's happened."

"Don't think that's true. Hones'ly, my bet would be on the chap who popped round the other day. You've not been the same since."

"You're not going to stop until I tell you, are you?"

"Fair's fair."

"That's...that's fair." A drunken sigh. "His name's Zira-Az-Ziraphale. He's an angel. The only one down here. An' when you spend 6000 years with someone, all alone...you kind of fall in love, you know. Problem is, he's an idiot. Guess both of us are."

"Wait..." Paymon slurred. "You've been dating an angel all this time? How is it you're still alive."

Crowley blinked slowly.

"For the same reason you are, I'm guessing."

"Doubt it..." Paymon muttered meaningfully.

"Besides, I thought you didn't care about the rules."

A shrug. "So what happens now?"

"Don't know. I don't want to think about it, to be honest. I'd rather you tell me more about what...what space is like these days...it's always been my favourite."

And so he did; but not because he had ever really been there, but because it was his job to know secret things- and to the inhabitants of the Earth, space was definitely a secret.

•••

Days passed. Aziraphale lost track if time as he followed lead after lead, chasing fading memories like a cat chases the red dot if a laser pointer.

He had to find the nameless angel. He knew he was real! He knew they had met! Even though he had forgotten him for a long time, Aziraphale still felt the connection they had had. He would even go so far as to say that he felt himself falling in love with this shadow- this ghost. He was familiar; felt like home.

Eventually, he had no choice but to give up. That was to say, he didn't give up the search, he just gave up torturing his computer and his brain. And like so often, that was when the answer came to him.

Earlier that week, when he had contemplated his and Crowley's relationship, when the angel's warning still rang in his mind like an explosion, Aziraphale had realised that he had seen him before- way back, when Eden was still an idea on a blueprint, not long before the Revolution. Now, his name was nowhere to be found in the files of heaven. So what if he had fallen, and changed his name?

Aziraphale's heart beat faster with excitement. There was only one person who would know, and whom he could ask. Only one person on earth.

••••

The world seemed to have changed in the past couple days. When Aziraphale stepped out of his bookshop, he felt jealousy where he once felt love, and anger where freedom should have been. People didn't smile when they saw him, they just narrowed their eyes, and somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed and dark smoke climbed up into the sky.


	11. I Forgive You

He bolted right back into the shop. Something was very wrong. Of course, his first course of action was to ring Crowley and tell him all about it. The sort of evil which now spread through London's air, like Pestilence had done in days of old, was definitely Hell's work. It needed to be thwarted at once.

There was no reply on any of the demon's devices. In his panicked state of mind, Aziraphale didn't once ask himself why Crowley had not tried to contact him at all.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. In his mind, he tried to find him. They had always been able to locate each other, except for when Aziraphale got discorporated. Not being able to find his angel, had devastated him.

Sure enough, he could feel Crowley. At least nothing had happened to him- yet. He seemed to be home. Why wasn't he picking up?

By the time he reached Mayfair, Aziraphale felt sick with worry. The city had changed for the worst in just a few days.

As he frantically abused the demon's expensive doorbell, a thought popped into his mind: What if Crowley had been right, and this was Hell's declaration of war on humanity? If he was right, what would heaven do?

•••

To Aziraphale's great surprise, he did open the door as nonchalantly as ever, though something wasn't right. It was the middle of the day, and Crowley was not wearing his sunglasses. Surely he couldn't have known who was at the door, could he?

"Crowley! Finally! I am so glad to see you! Are you alright?"

The demon eyed him up and down.

"Just fine, thanks."

"Oh what a relief! Something's very wrong. I need to come in."

Crowley hesitated but stepped aside.

"You've got to keep it short, angel. I'm waiting for someone."

"Waiting? On whom?"

"A friend."

"Why didn't you pick up the telephone? I've been calling you over and over!"

"I told you, I'm waiting for someone."

"But this is important! Surely you've heard my voicemails!"

A frown. "Poor angel doesn't feel loved, and suddenly the world is ending all over again." Crowley was mocking him by using The Voice. It was something he did occasionally. Much to the angel's dismay, he had used it enough throughout the centuries, it justified the use of capital letters, not unlike The Agreement.

The pit in Aziraphale's stomach grew turned into a black hole.

"Crowley...what has happened to you...?"

"What do you mean happened?" the demon snapped. His eyes sparkled dangerously. It was now Aziraphale realised he was no longer hiding at all. His yellow irises filled his eyes entirely, as if he were in Hell.

The angel hadn't been afraid very often in his life, but this sight made him understand what his poor houseplants went through.

"I mean why are you behaving like this?!" Asiraphale was desperate; his tone pleading. "You're acting like...like...like a DEMON!"

"That's because it's what I am!" Crowley was yelling. There was no other word for it.

"I'm a bloody demon! It's what I've always been and always will be! Your enemy with a convenient agreement! I'm from the other side! I'm fallen! That's what I am and that's why I am like this! Give me one reason why I should keep pretending to be NICE!"

"Because you're my friend!! I like you, Crowley!" Aziraphale also shouted, but out of despair, rather than anger. His voice cracked.

"What does it matter?! I've been trying to tell you for 6000 years! I tried to save you from the end of the world! Yet you barely manage to call me a friend! I loved you, Aziraphale! But none of it matters now because now it's me who doesn't need YOU anymore! So you can go to Heaven for all I care!"

A second passed before the angel managed to even open his mouth. He closed it again. And opened it. His brain had switched to auto pilot. "Fine!" he cried at last.

"Because I don't need you either! I am in love! With another angel! So...so...goodbye!"

He expected Crowley to say something. Like last time, when he had said "have a nice doomsday", but he didn't.

He just glared at him through his slit-shaped pupils, his chest heaving with rage. Aziraphale could hear his broken heart beat fast. Like a disease it infected him, and spread through his body. His heart's metaphorical paint began to chip, but it didn't break. It caused pain, and, for the moment, made him feel like it had broken too, but he was an angel. His heart was indestructible. Especially when he set out to love someone like he loved Crowley.

Aziraphale turned around and walked towards the door, but stopped on his way out. He turned around to look at the demon. "I forgive you..."


	12. The Cunning Angel

Yes, Aziraphale had been part of the Revolution, steadfastly defending God and all Her plans, be it Ineffable or Great. Of course he'd been on Heaven's side! Good must, of course, be preserved at all costs, and the Almighty must not be questioned.

His view had drastically changed since then. He'd been young. He hadn't known any better. He hadn't met Crowley.

Soon, Aziraphale had to admit that his idea of defence, and of protection of ideals were very different from the other angels. He had imagined it more like a debate, where each side presented their arguments around a large table with lots of ambrosia on it, until the rebellious angels saw sense and returned to doing good and not asking too many questions. If he let his imagination run wild- which he only became aware he had in that very moment- he could even picture God coming down to answer their questions.

It couldn't have been further from the truth. The whole thing was terrifying. The first, proper civil war in existence. Angels were cast off left and right. Apparently they were sent to a place of punishment. A prison, as it were, called Hell.

So if you asked Aziraphale whether he had ever been involved in a war, he would probably say yes. However if you asked him if he had ever fought, the answer would be quite different.

The poor, confused angel now had to face his first battle all by himself, and all with himself. How could Crowley be so cruel? How could he possibly say those things? Had he not understood? The thermos...his heart. Could he really be so blind? So stupid? Telling him he went too fast was meant to signal him that he would be ready eventually, but that he just wasn't quite there yet.

It hurt Aziraphale to see that Crowley didn't know how hard all of this was for him. Certainly a good deal harder than for him! He always ran around flirting, seemingly unafraid of the consequences. Why then, did he draw the line at little thank yous? And what's more, why did he assume just because the world wasn't ending, his fear would just go away?

Yes, a lot had changed. His insecurities had vanished to an extent. At least now he could allow himself to associate with the demon without making up a dozen excuses beforehand, as to why a meeting was absolutely vital, in case they got caught. He had also realised it had become easier to

just chat with him. At least now when he told Crowley about his barber's recommendations, he wouldn't get snapped at. In short- being together no longer felt sinful.

Aziraphale felt anger bubbling up inside him, mingling with the deep, dark, seas of disappointment that had formed after leaving the flat. Perhaps it was best not to see him for a while...however long that while would be. There were more important things in life than idiots in shades. Namely whatever evil was brewing in the city.

He picked up a copy of the Daily Mail. It contained a few particularly hatefully written articles about strange events, fires, and significantly increasing violence during the past few days. This was not Crowley's handwriting at all. This was bigger, and actually malicious. If this really was a taste of what Hell had in store for humanity, he would know to do something about it. All by himself, if need be.

Aziraphale decided to sit down on a bench. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. It was much harder to locate something you didn't know; something that was all over the place. He could feel it. It overwhelmed him, until he couldn't take it any longer. A gasp. His pain increased. Eyes reddened, but to tear was shed.

Although he had been unable to pinpoint that thing, he had at least gotten a taste of it. He straightened his back. However frightening, it needed to be done. And if he couldn't find him with his heart, a summoning ceremony would do just fine.


	13. Revelations

AN: Thank you for all those lovely reviwes! All of them are Guest reviews so far, so I couldn't reply personally. Just know that I see them, and that I'm very grateful! 3

Also: I have read the book by now, and I loved it! I just couldn't resist, even if it totally goes against what I said in the beginning. It was a little disheartening to have the entire basis of this fic undermined by Crowley sleeping through an entire century, but hey ho! ;)

This is probably going to be the second to last chapter! So I hope you guys enjoy the final stretch!

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While the angel barricaded himself in his shop once again, Crowley pushed a pile of books from his desk onto the floor with a cry of frustration and anger. He hated Aziraphale! He hated the situation they were in! But most of all, he hated himself.

Other than the angel, Crowley wasn't afraid to show tears. He kicked one of his antique chairs with a guttural cry.

"Why can't I just do the right thing for once?!" The question was directed at no one in particular, yet there came an answer.

"Because you, are a demon, dear boy."

Those words made Crowley's heart jump. For a split second only, a seed of love and hope reared it's head inside his soul, but it was suffocated by the scent of cold tobacco. With a sigh, Crowley turned around.

"But I never meant to be, Paimon. Neither of us did..."

"It has its perks, don't you think? Being a demon is quite liberating."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. "Liberating? You don't have free will, how is that liberating?"

"Well, you aren't bound to any physical form. We don't age...and this- this is the best part: we don't have to spend time with angels out of sympathy."

Crowley's bottom lip trembled. He wasn't quite sure if it was anger, pain, or sheer confusion that caused it. "It wasn't just sympathy, Paimon...we spent the last six millennia together. We saved each other's lives more often than I'd like to admit." A deep breath. Admitting it hurt, especially because he had just sent the angel away. "I need him."

Hearing himself say it out loud, changed everything. It felt like a spell was broken, like he had reached true freedom at last.

With it, other realisations followed; things that cut into his conscience like daggers.

"Sorry, Paimon, it's been fun. Great seeing you again, but you've got to leave. I'm sure there's some nebula where you can hide, but I can't have you any longer."

Once again, the other demon smirked in his particular way. Something about him changed. It felt like one of those movie scenes, where, upon being revealed, the antagonist suddenly acts completely different, because they don't feel the need to hide any longer.

"Oh, I don't think you get to decide when I leave, Crowley."

"Why did you come here...?"

"What do you think,...friend?"

"Oh no..." Another realisation hit him. Something he had known all along, deep down in his soul, but refused to accept until it became reality. "They sent you, haven't they? They sent you to kill me!"

Paimon laughed. "Kill you?! Don't be ridiculous, Crowley! That...will be Lord Bezebub's part."

"You bastard! I trusted you!"

"Just goes to show how soft you've become." Paimon seemed unfazed by Crowley's outburst. The only emotion in his voice was a slight hint of disgust.

"What did you do to Aziraphale?!"

A smile. "Oh by golly, I'm glad you noticed!"

His former friend lunged forward with a cry of pure rage- the rage of an ancient, heartbroken lover. Paimon stepped back. A flash of blinding, white light filled the room.

The words "give my angel back!!" echoed in the room before darkness returned, and Crowley was gone.

————————-

"Give back my angel!!" Was all Aziraphale heard before a tall, thin figure jumped at him from out the circle. The impact knocked him to the floor, where the figure pinned him in place. Their eyes were fixed on each other. Their noses so close they could feel each other's breath on their skin. Either of them tried to understand what had just happened.

Slowly, Crowley's eyes changed back into their more earthly shape.

"Aziraphale...?" he sat up, but making no effort to get off him. "Did you just summon me?!"

"No! I didn't summon YOU! I tried to fetch-ugh. I could explain if you'd just get off me."

Crowley did as he was told.

"Speaking of which- what are you doing here? I didn't summon you."

"I don't know. I was just having an argument, and all of a sudden I'm here!"

"Oh so I'm not the only one you are fighting these days. Glad to hear it." The angel got up, wrinkled his nose sarcastically, and proceeded to brush some dust off his cherished waistcoat.

Crowley just closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear it.

"Listen, this isn't the time and place for that conversation."

"Exactly. He's still there isn't he?" The angel was now walking inexorably towards the glowing portal.

"Wait, no. I know what you're going to do. Don't even think about it! No, Aziraphale, you don't-"

A poof. A flash. Silence.

"-know what he's capable of..."


	14. Unholy Rage

AN: I stand corrected! This is the second to last chapter! :)

* * *

The exchange had taken perhaps less than a minute, so when the angel materialised inside Crowley's flat, Paimon was still there. He was obviously still contemplating what to do. Wild eyes were searching the room before they met the angel's. Immediately, he relaxed and shot him a sly smile. "Oh, hello. Aziraphale, isn't it?"

"Paimon." The angel's voice reflected the anger he felt. Yet, a polite nod accompanied his greeting.  
The demon looked at him. He sounded rather amused when he spoke. "You've come to smite me down, haven't you?"

"I've come to tell you to go back to where you came from."  
"Oh you sweet being of light. As endearing your attempt at intimidation might be, I'm afraid I'll have to respectfully decline.' He sat down at the edge of Crowley's desk in a languid, almost suggestive manner, and lit a cigarette. 'I really don't know why everyone is so eager to get me to leave today. Your dearest Crowley did the same thing just a minute ago. Even jumped out at me, poor fool." He took a deep drag, and blissfully exhaled a cloud of smoke. He then narrowed his eyes and scanned the angel closely.  
"This isn't you, Crowley, is it? You didn't swap bodies with your lover boy again, did you?"  
He could read the answer in Aziraphale's shocked face.  
"How do you know about that…?"  
Paimon smirked and tilted back his head a little. "Oh I know everything about you two…I even know more about yourself than you do." He chuckled. "I never knew tempting an angel would be so easy…"  
"Tempting? You didn't tempt me. We've never met before!"  
"Au contraire, old boy! We have! I suppose I should thank you for letting me into your head. Your memories are terribly fascinating! Spiffing, really! Definitely more interesting than those most other angels, I wager. Oh don't look so shocked! Let me jog your memory, hang on."  
When Paimon spoke again, his voice was different, but familiar. "I'm here to warn you, Aziraphale. Crowley is dangerous. He plays games with everyone – including you."

"My dream…it was you…" Something about it didn't add up. The voice didn't feel right. It didn't feel at home, whereas the memory had. He must have imitated a memory found in the depths of Aziraphale's mind. He had not presented as his former angelic self, but as someone else's.  
This was how he had corrupted him- by using something so familiar, something that felt right, but wasn't immediately recognisable, he had sown doubt and planted an obsession in his mind; something that felt like love but was nothing more than a mirage of something long gone.  
"You used me!" He cried in anger, but regretted it immediately. He was, after all, speaking to a real demon.  
"Of course I did! It's part of my job, silly! It's why I'm here!"

"Who sent you?!" Aziraphale felt himself become more aggravated with each sentence Paimon uttered.  
A frown. "And I was told you were the intelligent one…" The demon put his cigarette out on the desk. "Who you think? HO, of course!"  
"It doesn't explain why exactly you are here…Did they send you to declare war on humanity? Are they planning another Armageddon?"  
"Oh my dear boy, no! It's much simpler than that." He blinked slowly, and when his eyes opened again, his lenses were gone. All that was left was pure white.  
"What then?! Why are you destroying London?! Why all of this pointless destruction? And why Crowley?! Demons don't sabotage each other!"  
Paimon's expression suddenly went cold as ice. Aziraphale shivered, but kept staring into those lifeless eyes. He was afraid, but tried not to show it. If Paimon picked up on his weakness there wouldn't be an angel for much longer.  
At least now he knew this was more than just Hell sending out a demon to go ham on Earth. This was much more deeply rooted. This was personal.  
"Choose your last words wisely, angel."  
"Why-" he started again, voice almost trembling with anger and fear. "-Crowley?"  
The staring contest continued. "Very well. Didn't you ever wonder how they always know where you are?"  
"Please answer my question."  
"Ever heard of the Earth Observation Files…?"  
Aziraphale could feel Paimon had finally picked up his emotions. He was certain to use them to his advantage. The angel needed to think quickly before the demon could destroy him. He felt the seeds of panic mixed with an ancient rage. Paimon's manipulation was beginning to work. Aziraphale was too curious to find out what he had to say. After all, what reason had he to lie if he was so certain the angel was going to die?  
"No? They knew you were fraternising, angel, long before you botched Armagheddon…"  
"Do not call me angel…Please." Aziraphale clenched his fists.  
"What if I tell you they have been fraternising long before you…?" Paimon's nostrils trembled. Something changed. "6000 years in Hell's darkest, dampest corner! All by myself! Just darkness! Do you know what it's like, Angel of the Eastern Gate?! Of course you don't! All you know is LIGHT! You don't know what it's like to be alone! I just want it to be over!"  
Suddenly, the angel understood. Something sprang to his mind- something he had read just before he drew the summoning circle as part of his research. Paimon would be forever bound to the demon who tempted Eve. He had to obey him. However, who did he obey if that demon had no idea he still existed?  
In short, Paimon had never been out of Hell. He had never travelled the universe. He had spent all this time locked up down there as a surveillance device for Crowley, and inevitably himself.  
Aziraphale tried to be empathetic; to feel bad for him, but even an angel's love is finite- and so is their patience. Every part of his soul was screaming vengeance. Heaven had betrayed him, and so had Paimon. He had dared to take the one thing away he loved more than anything in this world and beyond. He had taken it and spoiled it. Now he would have to face the consequences.  
He bolted towards the demon with a blood curdling battle cry of unholy rage, pinning Paimon to the wall behind him. The impact was enhanced by a flap of Aziraphale's giant wings, which had appeared on his back as he lost control of himself.  
The demon too had changed back into his original form. He was no longer the oddly handsome young man with the charming smile. Instead, an old man peered out of dead, gazeless eyes. His face was framed with greasy, white hair and a beard. The head of a Dromedary was peering down at Aziraphale from atop Paimon's human head.  
They stared into each other's eyes for one last time. Never before had the demon seen such intense rage in the eyes of an angel. He knew this was final. It was finally over. Right enough, a flood of Holy Water poured over both of them.  
Aziraphale staggered back as the demon began to scream in agony. He squinted his eyes, but found himself unable to fully look away.

When all of him was gone, and only a pile of smoking clothes remained on the floor, time stood still. Fires went out. Things appeared back in shops. Feuds caused by demonic doings were put aside, and Heaven and Hell stood trembling as the signal went out.

Life only resumed when Aziraphale could hear rustling by the door to Crowley's study, only to find the mortified owner stare at him from out his yellow eyes.


End file.
